Yellow
by Black and Red Candles
Summary: Yellow is supposed to be a color associated with happiness; a color bright and cheerful, evoking images of sunshine and summer and silly smiley faces. But for Minato, all it means is a depressing little patch of daisies...


**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor do I profit off this.

**Warnings:** Gore, Ryoji x Minato, robot!Aigis

**Author's Note: **First ever Persona 3 fanfiction. I hope you enjoy.

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Yellow is supposed to be a color associated with happiness; a color bright and cheerful, evoking images of sunshine and summer and silly smiley faces. Yellow is supposed to be associated with happiness.

But to Minato, yellow only meant cruel, harsh, crippling sadness; yellow meant stormy days spent cuddling his pillow and so many, many tears; yellow meant cold days and cold nights and cold hearts.

"_Minato," A breathy sigh, whispered so that no one but him could hear. He loves it. He loves it all. He loves sky blue eyes and eggshell white skin and black black and tiny little black moles that scrunch when **he** smiles and even the stupid yellow scarf **he** never takes off, even now._

Yellow meant blonde hair, his mother's hair before her _brainsbloodeyeballs_ were blown – no, smeared - into it like cake on linoleum, before she was _slaughtered_ and he could remember tugging it with chubby fingers...and that's all he could remember of her.

_A flash of yellow hair, above **his** yellow scarf, and Minato's eyes open wide. Yellow hair? But who could be here? But who could...? But Minato already knows who it is, and he can't help but freeze._

_A pink tongue flicks across his lips. "I thought you liked this?"_

Yellow meant feminine eyes and bright circles, staring at him openly, staring into his soul; opening new doors – too many god fucking doors – to people; giving him the key to obliterating the world...Thanatos. Thanatos was yet another disaster to be spawned from his soul.

"_I...I do," Minato stutters out, rushed, because the yellow is no longer there, perhaps it was **his** scarf?_

_**He** smiles, "Good," And **his** beautiful lips captured Minato's._

Yellow meant folded up scarves, splashed with red, closed up in a box he would let no one into, let no one see, let no one touch or kiss or rub...except himself.

_Yellow hair, golden hair, fluttering. Beautiful. Like sunlight in the otherwise dark night._

_A white, unwavering arm raises, "Minato?" A small click is heard. "Minato...?"_

Yellow means murder; murder murder murder.

_A yellow scarf flutters to the ground, soaked with brains and fluid and blood, and turns black, forever stained, like his mother -_

_Minato tries to scream._

_It doesn't work._

_- he looks up at her, grey eye shining, while her gears whirl and grind, like a whimsical song._

"_Enemy eliminated." _

_The gold of Aigis' arms, thighs, hair, glints golden. She is polished and scratch-free, like she had just come out of the manufacturing box._

"_You are now safe."_

_Minato inhales sharply, trying to draw in air, because he isn't getting enough, but it's a bad idea,_ _because it smells metallic, like iron. He might faint. He wants to die, because Ryoji..._

_Ryoji..._

"_Do you need assistance? You seem unable to move."_

_He shakes his head. He feels detached, like he'd suddenly removed himself from life, and was watching it through an emotionless lens._

_Steel fingers pry Ryoji's body from Minato's. He stares into sky blue eyes, so different from his lover, so much colder._

"_I will dispose of this."_

_Minato looks down at his clothes._

_Bloody._

_He knows he will never tell anyone what happened, never look Aigis in the - sky blue - eyes again, never love and be loved again. It was wrong in the first place, but it had been so right._

_It had been too right, and it had been torn down in a matter of seconds, too fast for the human eye to see._

_Minato bends down, picks up the scarf, and walks away, as the smell of fire meets his nostrils._

To Minato, yellow is not associated with golden sunshine, laying in soft green grass in the summertime, or smiley faces brightly smiling. It is instead associated with a little patch of daisies, gently leaning over to touch the earth in the subtle breeze; with a flashy scarf, draped lovingly over a crooked cross crudely made of sticks; with a burial plot that has nothing in but sadness and memories of a man that no one remembers except Minato himself.


End file.
